


Orange

by ouhusker7



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Crack, Gen, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouhusker7/pseuds/ouhusker7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After discovering Lizzie's videos at Netherfield, Darcy forgives her for slandering him but is unable to give her a second chance.  Crack fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orange

**Author's Note:**

> A while back, I posted a one-shot called "A different messenger," in which Darcy discovered Lizzie filming a video at Netherfield. One of my readers has been particularly...um, _persistent_ that I expand it into a full story (sorry to disappoint, but...not going to happen!). It became a running joke between us that she would send me a message ~~nagging~~ encouraging me to continue the story and I would reply with an ever-more-tragic ending. At her suggestion, I've decided to post this as a Halloween crack fic.
> 
> Please read the tags and warnings.

(Italicized portion is quoted from the end of “[A different messenger](http://archiveofourown.org/works/882728);” I suggest you read that story before this one, or it will be confusing.)

_“Oh. Lizzie.” Darcy paused in the doorway and stared at her. One glance told her why she’d heard nothing from him all day—he wore his cycling gear and, judging by the size of the sweat stains on his gray t-shirt, had put in a long ride._

_He shifted his weight and fiddled with the straps of his helmet before tucking it under his arm, and she realized she was staring. “Darcy. Hi,” she said warily. He moved toward her, reaching into the cupboard just to her right to remove a glass and then pouring himself some ice water._

_“There’s more curry if you want it,” she mumbled._

_“Thank you. Perhaps after I, uh, shower.”_

_She shrugged, then turned to remove her dish from the microwave. She planned to eat in her room anyway. Dinner with just the two of them would have been awkward in any case, but after this morning…no way._

_Darcy started to leave, then stopped. “Lizzie?” he said, waiting for her to look at him. His expression was solemn, but he spoke gently. “I’m not going to sue you.” He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded and left._

_Lizzie moved to the doorway, watching until he was out of sight._ She leaned against the counter then, calling herself every kind of coward. Darcy had apologized for his long-ago insult and had, within seconds of seeing her again, voluntarily erased her fear that he would retaliate for her videos. He had done so without demanding an apology from her, or even appearing to expect one.

Owe him an apology she certainly did, though, and she started for the hallway only to stop a moment later. He’d said he was going upstairs to shower, and following him now was likely to embarrass them both. Not that she would mind seeing him in his cycling gear again, or even shirtless. She’d been wary just now but not blind to the fact that Darcy post-bike ride looked unbelievably strong and, ahem, _smoking hot_.

Instead, Lizzie set her curry on the counter and looked around for a bar stool. She would wait here and see him when he came down for dinner. She would apologize, she would thank him for not retaliating when he had every right to, and then...well, she would try to talk to him. That might end in disaster—they didn't seem to have anything in common except holding strong opinions—but perhaps he would surprise her. He'd certainly done that enough already today.

She had just located a bar stool when she was startled by a series of thuds ending in a loud crash.

"Darcy?" she called, but no response came.

Lizzie hurried toward the guest wing, and that is where she found him, sprawled at the foot of the stairs, his head not tucked toward his chest in his usual way but tipped backward at a sickening angle. Her mouth quivered as she stood above him, and a moment passed before she gathered her wits enough to run to the next room and call 911.

After giving the address, she returned to him. She’d never been alone with a…she gulped and shook herself. She’d never been in this situation before, and it was a contest whether her shaky legs or queasy stomach would betray her first. She sank down by his side and stared timidly at that pale, handsome face. Her hand reached for him, gingerly at first, and then she clasped his limp hand between hers.

“I—I’m so sorry, Darcy,” she whispered. She waited then with him, silent and shivering.

An eternity later, the paramedics arrived. Darcy was declared dead on arrival.

%%%

Orange. Lizzie hated orange. It made her skin look sallow and did truly awful things to her hair. That was the only thought her addled mind could produce as she stood to face the judge, her fingers clutching white-knuckled at the stand in front of her to keep herself upright.

She'd had no premonition, as she sat reeling by Darcy's lifeless body, that it would come to this. She had imagined then how Bing's face would crumple as he realized he'd lost his best friend. She had imagined him using his training on breaking bad news to people as he called Darcy’s younger sister with the devastating news. She had imagined Jane running herself ragged, trying to keep up with her job while spending every available moment helping Bing through his grief. She had imagined that it would be weeks before she herself would be able to sleep peacefully at night, without having nightmares of Darcy's cold hands and distorted limbs, of the apology she owed him but could never deliver.

After Darcy had been taken to the morgue, Lizzie had sat on the couch in a stupor, waiting for Jane, Bing, and Caroline to return from that wine-tasting trip. When they did, she'd poured out the story, the shock of it preventing her from noticing the look of horrified comprehension on Caroline's face. She had left then, walking aimlessly along the city streets until Charlotte finally returned her call from—was it really less than twelve hours ago that her biggest concern had been whether Darcy would sue her?

Charlotte had dropped everything to come pick her up. She had spent the night at the Lu's apartment, only to be awakened by a forceful knock on their door. The police had come for her.

The trial had not been lengthy. Darcy's younger sister, who Lizzie recognized immediately from the family resemblance, had tried pitifully to glare at her before bursting into heaving, heart-rending sobs. A tall African-American man had held her tightly and attempted to use his body to block her view of the woman accused of murdering her brother.

The evidence was damning. Caroline, the last of Darcy's acquaintances to see him alive, testified that he had discovered herself and Lizzie filming a video that mocked him. Darcy's laptop's internet browser history showed that he'd watched all her videos—videos in which she had slandered and defamed him. Several neighbors stated they’d seen a man fitting Darcy's description biking around furiously that afternoon, and Bing testified that he had only known his friend to do that when trying to resolve on a course of action. It was not difficult to conclude that Darcy had decided to sue Lizzie, informed her of this, and been pushed to his death to avoid a costly lawsuit. She had motive, means, and opportunity.

It was a neat, tidy case. 

Lizzie could not bear to look at her family as she awaited the verdict. Her father had aged at least two decades during the last months, his attempts to keep her mother from hysterics only mildly successful. Mrs. Bennet had been declared in contempt of court for her outbursts and thrown out by the second day of the trial. It was just as well. Charlotte, Jane, and Lydia had clutched each other, white-faced, as they saw the evidence piling up against her. Jane had tried to be strong for them all, but she had the grief of a failed relationship to add to her worry for her sister. Bing had cut off all contact with her after Lizzie's arrest. In the end, it was Charlotte whose carefully controlled presence had kept them all from disintegration. 

"What is the verdict?" the judge finally asked.

The jury foreman, a kind-faced, intelligent-looking man, kept his eyes fixed on the judge as he rose. "Your Honor, we find Elizabeth Bennet guilty of the murder of William Darcy."

**Author's Note:**

> Where would it go from here? Well, I’ve thought of two scenarios, neither of which I have the time (or the heart) to write.
> 
> 1) The comic. Wickham commits some dastardly deed (kills Gigi, perhaps) and frames Lydia for it, so the adorbs is behind bars. Jane and Charlotte are so crazed by this additional grief that they band together and take him out. Unfortunately, they are caught and convicted, and then the four girls are, at long last, reunited.
> 
> Highlight: “The Lizzie Bennet Prison Diaries”!
> 
> 2) The tragic. Lizzie serves her prison term bravely despite being haunted by dreams. Vivid, _happy_ dreams. Dreams that Darcy lived, that he became more to her than just a guy she had hated and was maybe wrong about. Which is ridiculous, because even if he wasn’t the d-----bag she’d painted him as, there was no way he’d be _that_ sweet and loving and attentive and supportive and passionate and…and perfect.
> 
> Highlight: In one dream, Darcy is merely knocked unconscious by his fall. As she holds his limp hand and apologizes to him, he jerks upright, mumbling dazedly that “the stairs in this house can be quite unforgiving.”


End file.
